The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] (8 page)

Patrick stops mashing the potatoes and spoons them into one of Joyce’s large fiesta ware dishes. As he walks outside to set it on the table, he lets out a long sigh.

Beatrice turns to him and smiles. “Now that’s the sign of a young man missin’ his love.”

Patrick laughs and closes his eyes for a second, a little embarrassed. I can tell because of the pink stain on his sunburned cheeks. “I wish Kendall could be here. She’d love this country, the people, helping out.”

I’m surprised to hear him say this, although I beam at his words.

“She be beautiful, eh?” Joyce asks.

“The prettiest,” Patrick says.

“You bring her down here anytime,” George tells him. “You’ve helped restore our home. It’s ours to share.”

Tears of joy pour down my face mixed together with ones of regret because I had no idea what Patrick was up to.

It’s announced that the fish is finished cooking and so Patrick, his dad, and the two couples take their seats around the table. Drinks are distributed and plates are filled. George leads a quick blessing and then everyone dives in to the bounty.

Patrick holds up his soda. “God bless us, everyone!”

“Amen!” Joyce and Beatrice say at the same time.

Over in the corner, I see a faint spirit of Edgar watching over them. I wave at him and he smiles back at me. He’s not really in limbo like other ghosts I’ve encountered in and around Radisson. Instead, it just appears that he’s checking in on his family. He gives me the okay sign with his fingers and I know all is well.

“Hey, I can see a ghost,” Celia says. “Of course, I’m technically one right now, so I guess it doesn’t count.”

Scowling at her, I ask, “I thought you said this was a dream?”

“It’s whatever it needs to be to help you along the way, Kendall.”

In the blink of an eye, we’re back in Radisson in front of Loreen’s shop. She’s turning off the lights and locking up. I see her walk to her car and note the white linen dress bag in the back. Her wedding dress. She fingers the top of it and smiles knowingly.

“There’s my bride,” I hear behind us. I turn to see Father Massimo who is absolutely beaming with happiness. He embraces Loreen and there’s a bit of older person PDA right here on the Main Street of Radisson. A little embarrassed, I look away, giving them some privacy.

When they come up for air, Mass says, “I can’t wait until tonight.”

“Me, neither,” Loreen says in a breathy way. “It seems almost unreal.”

He touches his hand to her cheek. “I assure you, it’s all very real.”

She drops her gaze. “My father won’t be here. He refuses.”

“And my brother’s flight from Boston is delayed. He may not make it in time. The right people will be with us, Loreen. We’ll be together. That’s all that matters.”

She heaves a deep breath. “I hope Kendall is her old self.”

I pop to attention at the mention of my name. “Huh? What?”

“I’ve been praying for her,” Mass says. “She’s been through a lot and we put a ton of responsibilities on her with this wedding. She’ll be okay. She’s a tough girl.”

“I hope so,” Loreen says. “I love her so much. If it weren’t for her, you and I never would have found each other.”

Mass’s eyes sparkle—yes, they sparkle—at her. “Oh, we would have found each other.”

I drop my head. “I’m a total ass.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Celia agrees.

I’m about to scoff at her when I realize she’s right. I’m right. Loreen’s right. I have been a horrible person. Not myself. Patrick’s in another country helping strangers, and I’m moaning and carping about doing things for my family, sister, and mentor.

“You can make everything right,” the ghost tells me. “Only you, though.”

“I know,” I say. “I may be asleep, but my eyes are wide open.”

The bell tower of City Hall chimes once more, clanging twelve times. I cock my head. “Midnight was an hour ago.”

“Not really,” my guide says. “It’s time to go.”

Loreen glances my way, as if sensing that I’m there. I wave weakly and then duck my head. Celia sweeps her arms wide, holding the torch high in a blazing flame. The long sleeves of her robe extend to fluttering curtains of green felt, covering me in confusion and mist. “Be well, Kendall.”

Celia, my Ghost of Christmas Present, disappears and leaves something dark in her wake. I try to sidestep it; however, it knows where to find me.

Up from the ground arises a black mass, stretching bony fingers and pulling me under. Down, down, down.

I’m totally screwed.

S
TANZA 6:
T
HE
T
HIRD
V
ISITING
S
PIRIT

“What are you doing, Kendall?” I hear a male voice call out to me.

I open my eyes and see that I haven’t actually been sucked into a vortex from hell as I first thought. Rather, I’m just in the darkened Radisson cemetery, shrouded in the hanging branches of leafless trees with a hooded figure standing over me.

“I seriously can’t take much more of this,” I tell the phantom before me. When this spirit moves, a frigid chill travels in a halo around him. He’s cloaked as if a mystery, an enigma, a warning.

Holding my hands in front of me, I climb back to my feet and slough off the dirt from my pajamas. “Look, I know you’re here to bitch me out about all the things I’ve been doing wrong. Let me assure you, I got it. I’m down with it. There are things I have to change, starting with my attitude.

The figure just stands stock-still before me. A satiny, black robe-ish garment hangs from broad shoulders. The head is covered with a hood, masking the spirit’s face, eyes, and other features.

A booming voice sounds forthlike the mighty wind. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Future. Of Christmas Yet to Come.”

I literally feel my body shake from my cheeks all the way down to my toes. A pain in my chest threatens to undo me with its firm clutch of dread. I think I’ve handled tonight pretty well… up until this point. Now, I just want to get home, crawl back into my bed, and sleep until the dawn awakens.

“Hey, there,” I manage to eke out. “What’s in store for me?”

The ghost stretches out a large hand which points away from the cemetery. Well, good for that. I’m creeped out enough as it is without being in the frickin’ graveyard with this spook. When he doesn’t move to join me, I summon my courage and face him with my best ghost huntress attitude and spunk.

I pop my hip out to the side and cross my hands in front of me. “Let me guess. You’re gonna show me all sorts of eerie and terrifying things that haven’t happened to me yet. Right?”

The hooded head bobs up and down, no feature revealed.

An unclear and ambiguous horror skitters through me as I stand before this ghost. Underneath his veil, I can sense his eyes penetrating through me, judging and waiting.

Powering up my nerve, I say, “Look, dude, I’m sort of like a professional ghost huntress. I work with spirits and ghosts all the time. Usually not as much as I have tonight, but I’ve been pushed, shoved, teased, tortured, tormented, frightened, spooked, threatened, and provoked by plenty of paranormal entities. You don’t scare me. You’re actually annoying me.”

The ghost cocks his head, as if studying me.

“Oh, for God’s sake! Talk to me, dammit!”

“Fine!” the spirit says and jerks the hood off of his face.

I nearly choke on my laughter. “Patrick! Are you kidding me?
You’re
the Ghost of Christmas Future?”

He scowls at me and pushes the hood off of his neck. “Whatever. I was trying to get into the role and you ruined it.”

Part of me wants to run and hug him, kiss the mess out of him, but he’s not really here. It’s not
my
Patrick, rather a dream Patrick here to walk me through the final stage of whatever it is I’m experiencing.

He slices his eyes up and tries to be somber. “This is really important, Kendall. I’m not supposed to do the talking. You’re supposed to figure things out on your own.”

I gesture with my hand for him to lead the way.

The silky fabric of Patrick’s robe drags the ground, making a dusty path that I follow. We weave our way through the Radisson streets with ease—why couldn’t we fly like the other ghosts?—to Fogarty Street. We pass the drugstore, the library, and then come to stop in front of a white building I haven’t visited since Farah’s death.

“Why are we at Bryant-Jennings Funeral home?”

Two women I don’t recognize push past me, hurrying up the front steps. “I can’t believe he’s dead. He was just a little thing,” the woman in a black pantsuit says.

Her companion sniffles. “His mother and grandmother are devastated. You know his father hasn’t been to see him in the three years since the accident?”

“Shameful,” the first woman says.

Facing Patrick, I ask, “Who are they talking about? Is it someone we know?”

He points up into the funeral home, so I head on in.

“When did he pass away?” the pantsuit woman asks in a whisper once we’re inside.

“Late last night,” another mourner says.

Deeper into the room, I push past unseen faces to get to the open coffin. I’m used to seeing the dead, so why should this be any different?

Oh, but this one is vastly unlike any before.

When I gaze into the cherry wood coffin, my hands lift to cover my horror at what I see. Max Pilfer, about age twelve, slumbers silently and unmoving in his satin bedding.

“No!” I cry out.

To my right, his mother, Chandra, weeps into a knotted up wad of tissues while Miss Suzanne sits dazed and confused.

“The meningitis just destroyed him,” Chandra says between tears and sips of air.

“No, no, no,” I continue.

“You knew, Kendall,” ghostly Patrick says.

I spin on my heels and am in his face. “Don’t put this on me! I’m just a teenage psychic. What do I know? I’m not a doctor or a miracle worker!”

“You saw it, though,” he stresses. “The cards warned you.”

“The cards aren’t always right!” My head’s going to explode. This isn’t fair. This isn’t how it should be.

Patrick grips my shoulders and shakes me slightly. “The fact is, Kendall, you have a gift. One you still haven’t completely embraced. Some days you’re good with it, others, you run from it. You can’t escape who you are… what you are. You have to help people.”

“I do,” I say to him through my tears. “I do the best I can. I’m just a kid.” My head drops and my hair shields me from the reality of Max’s funeral going on around me.

“That’s just it, Kendall.” Patrick lifts my chin up with his index finger and laser-beams his gaze into mine. “You’re no longer a kid. You just turned eighteen and this isn’t the present. It’s the future. You’re an adult now. This is who you are. It’s not something you can tamp down and walk away from. It’s
what
you are.”

With a sniff, I say, “I should have told Suzanne. I could have warned her or given her the information as a possibility. It’s all in the way I couch the premonitions, visions, and intuitions.”

Patrick smiles at me. “Now you’ve got it.”

“So, I can rectify this?” I practically beg.

“It’s just one potential future, Kendall.”

I let out a sigh of relief. It’s short-lived, though. Patrick crooks his head to the door and out we go.

“There’s more.”

I gulp down hard. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Without flight or fancy, we’re suddenly… I don’t know where. Phantom Patrick stretches out his hand and pulls me along with him. I sense eyes on me from every direction, hidden behind corners, peering from windows. A chill creeps up my back and my skin itches.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“A bad neighborhood,” is the ghost’s response.

It’s not a somewhere I’ve ever been to before in my life. The storefronts are run-down, with broken windows and graffiti covering the outer walls. Drunks stumble out of clubs, barely able to walk a straight line or, God forbid, try to drive. The air is wrought with the stench of rotten beer, stale cigarettes, and… eww… is that urine?

I stifle a gag by putting my hand to my mouth. “Seriously? This is my future?”

“Not yours,” Patrick warns. “Someone you love, but deserted.”

Who? Who in the world—that I love and care about—could possibly be any bit attached to a cesspool area such as this?

We duck into an alley, stepping over bags of garbage that have been pillaged through. My stomach lurches from the sour odor of the trash and something akin to rotting rat corpses. I’ve been in Halloween horror houses before, yet nothing could ever prepare me for how discombobulated I am walking through this neighborhood.

Nails and broken glass scatter in front of us. I pick my way carefully through it knowing I’m only in socked feet. It would be my luck to come out of this dream with a shard of something in my big toe.

“You’ll be fine,” Phantom Patrick tells me. “This way. We’re almost there.”

This is a place of ill-repute. An area where you wouldn’t want to send your worst enemy. Here, secrets are spilled, reputations lost, and lives ruined. There are no good guys. No strong characters. No redeemable values. No fairy godmothers. Only criminals, miscreants, and troublemakers.

“Over there.” Patrick points across the street to a corner building. It’s made of painted cinderblock and has a flashing red neon sign overhead that reads “Live Nudes.”

Live Nudes? Well, I certainly don’t want to see dead ones. For that matter, I don’t want to see nudes at all.

“You’re taking me to a strip club?” I ask, disbelieving.

“I don’t have a choice,” he tells me.

My heart pounds inside my chest, throbbing with an ache of the unknown. Apparently in this future scenario, I’m not privy to my psychic abilities that can head off the mystery of this situation.